


Papaveroideae

by Itch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Faerie King Gabriel, Fluff, HELP I DONT KNOW HOW TO TAG THIS, M/M, florist!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itch/pseuds/Itch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester loves flowers so much he finds himself falling in love with the king of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papaveroideae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluejorts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejorts/gifts).



Sam looked up from his book from where he was sat on the windowsill, looking through the frost decorated glass and out onto the small patch of grass outside the window. It looked out onto his garden, neat and trim, his pride and joy that he would talk about for hours if asked to. He closed his book slowly, fingers easily bending the page corner into a neat dogear, a habit he sometimes wishes he hadn’t picked up but one he couldn’t get rid of either. He slid the book off of where he’d had it balanced on his knees onto the grey pillow beside him.

He checked his watch as the low grey light coming through the window to illuminate his lap began to lighten a little. 6:59am. Sunrise. He smiled, the early sunrise meaning only one thing. Spring was coming. He swung his legs off the window seat and put his boots on quickly, the worn leather matching the faded look of his jeans and the slightly fuzzy quality of his favourite red plaid. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he picked up his coat and left the house. 

**~*~**

If there any way of describing Sam, it was as an early bird. He loved sunrises, the soft pastel colours that leaked into the sky and the way it lit up the dew balancing on the tips of leaves. As he crunched his way down a gravel path he spotted a lonely daffodil, swaying in an invisible breeze and he sped his pace up a little.  _ First daffodil of the year. _ Leaving the beaten path, he slipped into the shade of the forest. Amongst the trees some frost still clung to the blades of grass, the ground a spattering of green and silver. Where the sunlight could get through, the frost lit up with blue and pink glitter.

Sam wasn’t much of a fan of winter time, his shop slowed down to a painful grind. Sam was a florist, he ran Winchester’s Flowers right in the centre of town, squashed between his friend’s tattoo parlour, and the mechanic shop where his brother worked. He often came into the forest to find some flowers that maybe could inspire him into making more bouquets, or a new display for the window. Sam liked the daffodils, and they sold well around this time of year too. He leant over, carefully plucking one, the stem making a sharp snapping noise that seemed to echo in the still air. He twirled the flower in his fingers before raising it to his nose, sniffing carefully. The perfumed scent made his heart jump and he honestly felt himself going a little giddy over it. 

A leaf crunched behind him and he spun round, looking behind him at a path that branched off to the deeper parts of the forest, the parts where the sunlight didn’t reach the floor. 

 “Hello?” He asked quietly, slightly nervous. He didn’t know anyone else who came to the forest, not that deep, nor that early either. Outside of the woods Sam was what everyone would describe as a gentle giant. Sure he was ripped, he did a lot of work at the gym, plus he worked alone at the florists, and someone needed to lift all the heavy boxes. 

 “Hello?” A voice called back. The voice wasn’t one Sam recognised, but it had an enchanting timbre to it. Something about the sound of that voice made Sam want to sit down and listen to the person it belonged to tell stories about ages past, kings and queens in mink-furred regalia and gilded crowns that slip forward over foreheads. 

Sam let the daffodil fall from his fingers, the sunshine yellow burningly bright against the white of the frost as he watched the shorter man emerge from the shadows. The man was ample in stature, round around the middle with slightly bowed legs covered in navy blue jeans. His hair was a graceful sweep of honey blonde, the light making it look like genuine spun gold. Sam stood there for a second, staring the man down. 

 “Are you… who are you?” Sam raised an eyebrow, the question slightly dumb because who was he to ask who the other man was, but he wanted to know. He’d never seen anyone else this far into the forest. Sometimes there were the local kids playing, or groups of teenagers getting high where no one would catch them, but never a man with eyes of sunlight and stardust.

 “Gabriel. I’m uh - I’m a local.” He said, looking Sam up and down, expression vaguely suspicious. Sam didn’t take offence to that though, letting him look at him however he pleased. Gabriel seemed cautious, almost as if he had something going on, something he was determined to protect. There was something about Gabriel that was… _ off.  _ At first glance he seemed in his early 20s, full of youth and vigour, but at the same time he seemed in his early 40s, a wise man with life under his belt. His eyes were a smidge too bright and impish, posture too perfect and ready. The man was, in all essence of the word, an enigma. 

 “I’m Sam, I work in town. Winchester’s Flowers?” He gave the name of his store like a peace offering,  _ I’ll give you mine if you give me yours.  _ Gabriel nodded, even if only slightly before looking down at the now discarded daffodil. 

 “You like flowers then?” Gabriel pointed to the flora and Sam nodded, bending to pick it up again. 

 “I know I shouldn’t pick ‘em really but… I was gonna take it back with me, stick it in a vase in my friend’s tattoo parlour.” Sam would often give Charlie or Jo flowers for the store, it brightened their place up a lot, the yellow or reds of the flowers contrasting to their matte black paint. 

 “You got a favourite flower?” Gabriel raised his gaze from the flower in Sam’s hand to Sam’s face, and Sam felt something zip through him, a spark that he hadn’t felt anything like before. 

 “Uh… snowdrops maybe? Snowdrops are lovely, but I find them to be the winter flower. It’s nearly spring, and daffodils are the  _ epitome  _ of spring. It changes depending on the season if I’m honest with ya.” Sam’s smile was back then, warm. He enjoyed talking about flowers, he could talk about them till the sun that’d just risen went down again, deciphering the meaning behind each one. Sometimes he lay in bed at night, arm above him, flower between his thumb and forefinger, watching the way the light came through the paper thin petals. There was something intimate almost about the moments he spent admiring the flowers he bought and sold, something with a near degree of magic about them, and Sam wouldn’t trade the flowers for the world. 

 “Yeah. I agree.” Gabriel smiled then too and Sam felt as if the entire clearing became filled with daffodils then. If Gabriel’s eyes were spring then his smile was summer, heat and fun in a simple gesture of emotion. It was the kind of smile Sam wanted to see again and the kind that Sam would feel honoured to have caused. Sam rolled the stem of the daffodil in his fingers again before awkwardly gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder.

 “I should be heading off, I gotta go open the shop at some point and I wanna get this beauty in some water.” He wiggled the daffodil though he didn’t think he really needed to explain what he was on about and Gabriel just bobbed his head, humming in agreement. “I’ll see you around maybe?” A small noise of affirmation from Gabriel, and Sam turned away, hurrying back to his house, the mystery man burned into his mind. He ran the cold tap, filling up a vase with the water, slipping the flower into it watching it spin for a second before it rested against the glass edge. He beamed at it before letting his gaze wander over to the plain white canvas and easel in the corner of the room. Maybe after work. 

Instead of taking the simple flower with him to work, or to give as a gift to Charlie and Jo, he left it on his windowsill beside his closed book, the sun coming through the water and the glass to send a rainbow across the dark leather cover.


End file.
